


Of Men and Muses

by A_Little_Boosh_Maid



Series: Entering the First Days of Howince [1]
Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Best Friends, Domestic Fluff, Friendship/Love, Jealousy, Light Angst, M/M, Male Slash, Mild Sexual Content, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Season/Series 01, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-08 00:44:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15231645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Little_Boosh_Maid/pseuds/A_Little_Boosh_Maid
Summary: Vince unexpectedly sees his best friend Howard in a new light, and realises his feelings have changed. All about Vince and Howard's life together at the Zooniverse, told mostly from Vince's viewpoint.





	Of Men and Muses

It all began with Mrs Gideon. At least, that's how Vince saw it. If he had a more analytical mind, he could probably have it traced it back further than that, but he hadn't, so he didn't.

Vince's best friend Howard fancied Mrs Gideon, who worked in the reptile house at the Zooniverse, and it was driving Vince around the bend. He didn't know why it got him so angry, except that Howard was making such a tit of himself, and it was embarrassing. Vince could feel his coolness leach away the more he had to hang around a lovesick moron who kept wittering on about Mrs Gideon's creamy complexion.

Which is crap, thought Vince. She's got a completely normal complexion. If anyone's got a creamy complexion, it's me. Look past the Max Factor, and it's pure cream back there.

Vince had tried to talk sense into Howard, pointing out that his behaviour towards Mrs Gideon was bordering on harassment, and she'd already put in a formal complaint about him to the zoo manager, Bob Fossil. Vince had had to do a whole lot of sweet talking to Fossil to get him to drop disciplinary proceedings against Howard.

Then Howard started sobbing into Mrs Gideon's fish pond every night, making it all salty so the fish died. That ended up in the papers, with headlines like SAD-SACK LOCAL ZOOKEEPER STALKS SNAKE LADY AND KILLS HER KOI CARP. Fossil said it was very bad publicity for the zoo, although in fact it attracted more visitors, who turned up hoping to catch a glimpse of this weeping weirdo, while a few thought it quite romantic.

Vince asked Howard why he wasted his time on Mrs Gideon, but Howard said that as a poet, he needed a muse to inspire him.

"Yeah but why Gideon?", asked Vince. "I mean, why can't I be your muse?"

"A muse has to be unattainable", explained Howard. "She must be a cold, distant star, like Sir Philip Sidney's Stella, or mysterious and cold like Shakespeare's Dark Lady".

"I can be distant and cold and mysterious when I feel like it", Vince sulked. "I'll go over there and take my shirt off for no reason".

"You're not unattainable, Vince. I've already attained you. We live together in a tiny hut and share the same room. It's hard to get any more attainable than you already are".

There were times when Vince almost thought he hated Howard.

Even worse, he was starting to think he might hate himself, and this shook him to the core. Vince usually got on so well with himself that if they were friends, they would have constantly skipped around holding hands, wearing matching outfits while singing sunshine pop songs to each other, and finished the day sharing an ice cream cone on a park bench. But now he was getting on his own nerves to the point where he thought that Vince could go buy his own ice cream, and bugger off with it.

For example, on the list of Vince's biggest beefs with Vince, why couldn't he help Howard in his pursuit of Mrs Gideon as his muse? He knew that in some ways Howard and Gideon were actually suited to each other; they had a lot of boring interests in common like bookmarks and trumpets, and probably could have got on well enough if Howard would stop crying into her pond for five minutes. 

Furthermore, Mrs Gideon liked Vince and thought he was a nice boy. Just as he had sweet-talked Bob Fossil out of the disciplinary action, he could have talked old Gideon into going out with Howard at least once. But instead he ended up saying soothing things to her like, _Howard doesn't have a lot of experience with women, Mrs Gideon_ , or _I promise he's completely harmless, you're not in any danger from him_.

And why didn't he want to help Howard get with Gideon? Because she didn't deserve him, he thought bitterly. If she couldn't see for herself how great Howard was, then it was just too bad. Howard had a lot to offer, and the fact that Mrs Gideon kept rejecting him in a cold and distant way made Vince feel like hating her as well.

The worst thing though was that Vince knew he not only hadn't done anything to help Howard, he wasn't doing anything to console him either. He knew men were supposed to say things to their lovelorn best friends like, _She's not worth it, you muppet_ , or _Bloody women, eh?_ , or _Don't worry Howard, at least you've still got your mates_. But instead he was flouncing around like a little brat, moaning about not being Howard's chosen muse.

As Vince slouched broodingly towards the zoo's entrance, he noticed a gaggle of eager-looking women, wearing badges in the shape of a carp. They had read about Howard's fish pond tears and formed an obsession with him, as the papers had made him sound like a sort of cross between Keats and Lady Chatterley's lover – one-half mopey wistfulness, one-half earthy sensuality. The idea that Howard might throw them on a bed then write a soppy poem about it was just too alluring.

The Loony Zookeeper Fan Club, the Zooniverse employees called them; they were inclined to snicker at the fan club's devotion. Vince looked at them with irritation. He was starting to really get the shits with Howard's fans. Although at least Howard would never want any of _them_ as his muse – they were making themselves far too attainable ....

************************

It was in this highly uncharacteristic mood of hate-filled resentment that Vince arrived at Bob Fossil's office. They were supposed to be discussing the new llamas that would be arriving later, or in Fossil's own words: "These long-necked mountain people, they're very, very nervous. I'm relying on you to help keep them calm, Vincie, because if one of those woolly blanket guys goes apeshit, the whole kit and kaboodle of them will be all over the zoo like a schoolteacher's headache".

But when Vince got to the meeting, the pudgy little man in his ill-fitting powder blue safari suit was nowhere to be seen. Vince wasted no time going through his desk – ransacking Fossil's office was the main way Zooniverse employees got grist for the constant workplace rumour-mill, and how everyone discovered that Bob Fossil and Bollo the gorilla had had a passionate affair the previous summer (they all thought Bollo could have done a lot better).

That was when Vince saw the envelope. It was an ordinary large plain envelope at the bottom of a desk drawer, covered in papers. Written on it with pencil, it said: _H. Moon, nude photos_. Later on, Vince could no longer remember why he'd opened the envelope. Was it curiosity, hoping for a laugh, wanting to warn Howard? Or maybe even then ... but in any case he opened the envelope and looked at the first photo.

People sometimes talked about their heart stopping, or time standing still, but for Vince it was if someone had pressed the pause button on his brain. It just ceased to operate, and there was nothing but white noise. Anyone who had seen Vince at the desk would have witnessed him staring with huge eyes at the photo, his mouth hanging open in stupefaction.

Vince gave himself a little shake, and tried to get his brain working again, form some coherent thoughts about what he was looking at. _Firm chest, not too hairy, cute little nipples. Stomach flat, but still soft and touchable, nice to stroke._ And then ... _Wow_. Brain stopped working. Vince tried again, starting from the other end. _Sleek willowy legs, strong manly thighs_. And then ... _Wow wow wow ... oh ... wow_.

Why wouldn't his brain work?, Vince wondered in frustration. What was he doing? And then it dawned on him: he was drooling over a nude photo of his best mate. He'd gone wrong. Really wrong. Like 'mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the wrongest of them all' type wrong.

In Vince's school days, his art class had been taken to a museum to see a reproduction of Michelangelo's _David_. The teacher explained that for centuries the statue had been the standard for masculine physical beauty, which had made Vince feel insecure about his own skinny body. One of the reasons he loved fashion so much was that he felt when properly dressed, people were looking at the display of his clothing, not really at him. The real him was in there somewhere, but not for public consumption.  

Vince didn't look like _David_ when he undressed, and neither did Howard – in some respects, he was more of a Goliath. But in Vince's eyes, Howard looked not so much like a classical statue as a northern warrior, one of the mad Celts they had studied in history class who went into battle naked and hard, painted with blue woad. Vince thought Howard made Michelangelo's _David_ look like a simpering ponce. He was pretty sure Howard could make a mess of him.

He kept looking through the photos (there weren't very many), and his brain continued checking out without leaving a forwarding address. Eventually he realised he couldn't leave Fossil's office in the state he was in, so he put his hand under the desk and took care of it. He was careful not to get any on the photos.

Afterwards he put the envelope back where he had found it, because he didn't want anyone knowing that he had seen it, had touched it.

************************

It was only later that he thought to wonder why Bob Fossil had nude photos of Howard to begin with. Vince's friend Leroy from the ice rink next door had told him that the rumour going around was that Howard was whoring himself out to Fossil on the side.

"Howard is Fossil's bitch", Leroy had asserted. "He'll do whatever he's told, and you know what kind of things that perv Fossil's likely to ask for".

Vince had dismissed Leroy's story as mindless gossip. But now he remembered Howard's face in the photos (with shame, he realised he'd been too busy tossing off over the revelation of Howard's hot body to concentrate on his familiar features). And looking back, Howard's face hadn't been happy, hadn't been willing. It was the face of someone trapped, but resigned to their fate.

The hatred that Vince had felt for Mrs Gideon, the Loony Zookeeper Fan Club, Howard, and himself was immediately eclipsed by an overwhelming loathing of Bob Fossil so physical that it hurt to breathe. Its raw intensity made him realise at last that he was suffering from jealousy, an emotion he had not experienced before, and barely believed existed.

Vince, who had never as much as envied anyone, even for a minute, was sick with jealousy over Gideon, Fossil, and an entire fan club wearing carp-shaped badges. He had never had a harsh thought about anyone in his life either, and now he wanted to kill Bob Fossil and use him for lion food.

He couldn't believe that Howard, who had spent his entire school and college years, not to mention the time they spent together in the hut, carefully shielding his naked body from Vince's view, would share it with Bob Fossil, no matter how unhappily or unwillingly. It felt like a betrayal, and one that got under Vince's ribs like a nagging, ragged pain.

It fucks you up, that level of desire, when it hits you unexpectedly and is directed at your best friend. That's why, when Howard came to Vince with the photos and told him that Bob Fossil was blackmailing him, Vince was quick to grab the envelope from him, glanced through the photos, and immediately made fun of a minor disfigurement on Howard's body, calling him The Elephant Man, and other names.

It hurt Howard, sure. In fact he was so sensitive to criticism it traumatised him to the point that for some time he believed he was actually deformed, and in his mind, any time he showed himself to others they turned away in horror and disgust. Doctors' visits were cancelled, and there was no chance of him ever going swimming again.

But at least Howard didn't know that his best mate had whacked off over his nude photos, and for Vince, that was the important thing. He didn't know if their friendship could survive that, and to lose Howard was a far, far worse thing than to hurt him.

************************

The first thing Vince noticed was that he kept trying to touch Howard. He didn't even realise he was doing it to start with – Howard would be glooming over Mrs Gideon and her cruel rejections, and Vince would put a hand on his arm to comfort him without thinking. Or they would be messing around, and Vince would playfully touch Howard's stomach (Howard's stomach _did_ feel nice to stroke).

Howard either shrugged him off, not rudely but firmly, or he flinched away slightly, or simply ignored Vince. Yet Vince continued to keep touching him. At first he wanted to tease Howard, wanted him to snap, or push back in frustration. Then he wanted Howard to submit to his caresses, and return them. And finally, he just wanted Howard to acknowledge what was happening, even if that meant he got told to fuck off.

But there was never any acknowledgement. Vince felt like a little creep, contantly trying to feel up his best mate, but couldn't seem to stop himself.

Then there was the gazing. Vince would suddenly give a start and realise he'd been staring at Howard. How long for? Had it only been a few seconds, or had he been mooning over him for half an hour? Once again, his brain got put on pause, and he didn't know what he'd been thinking about.

Vince just knew that he really liked looking at Howard. He liked the expressions he pulled when he thought nobody was watching, he liked the way Howard smiled to himself, he liked the way his hair crinkled into scruffy little waves, he liked the shape of his mouth and his coffee-coloured moustache, he liked the little freckles on his hands, he even liked Howard's lumpy woollen jumpers that completely disguised what a delicious body he had.

One day Vince remarked, not without gratification, that the number of Howard's fans seemed to be finally dropping off, with the amount of women sporting carp badges down to just a trickle that week.

"What fans?", asked Howard vaguely. He was writing out the roster for the following month.

"The – The Howard Moon Fan Club", Vince answered, suddenly remembering to call it by its correct name.

Howard looked amused. "Oh Vince, there's no such thing – that was a just a silly rumour someone started".

"Are you joking?", Vince asked in surprise. "There have been a ton of women coming to the zoo wearing badges shaped like fish, because they're all madly in love with you!".

"Those badges are in support of our aquatic program", Howard insisted.

"The badges read WE LOVE H.M.", Vince pointed out.

"It stands for, um, WE LOVE HAPPY MARINE-LIFE".

"They carry a copy of your photo cut out from the newspaper".

"That could be anyone – newspaper photos all look like the same person".

"So you don't have fans, and it's all made up?".

"Yes".

Blimey, thought Vince. He's hopeless. He can't believe that someone would be interested in him, even when a crowd of people are practically carrying placards that actually say that.

Since Howard's hurt and anguish had diminished to mere body dysmorphic disorder and paranoia, Vince ventured to ask Howard why Bob Fossil had nude photos of him in the first place. He tried very, very hard not to sound jealous and accusing. It came out sounding a bit flirty.

"He took them so he could blackmail me later", said Howard uncomfortably.

"Forced you into it?", suggested Vince.

"Yes, he told me otherwise he could fire me for harassing Mrs Gideon after she complained", Howard mumbled.

Vince fought with his instincts to go out and immediately slaughter Fossil and Gideon.

"You don't think he might have taken the photos to perv on you?", asked Vince.

Howard blushed. "I don't think so. Mind you, Fossil gets aroused looking at paper clips, so even if he did it wouldn't mean much".

"Someone could have seen the photos in his office and had a wank over them or anything", said Vince, looking at Howard for a reaction.

"That's not very likely, is it Vince?", Howard replied mildly.

Vince decided to stick with sounding flirty whenever he got jealous; it seemed to work.

"Did Fossil ever get you to do anything else for him?", asked Vince. His voice was now so flirty it sounded as if he was begging for a fuck.

There was a long silence. So long that Vince didn't think that Howard was going to respond at all, but eventually he spoke.

"Can I put you down for Thursdays afternoons, Vince? The llamas will need grooming".

************************

It was the first night of autumn cold enough to have the heat on, and as was their annual tradition, Vince and Howard dragged the pillows and blankets off their beds and slept on the floor next to the heater. Howard referred to it as Camp Night. Vince found this name hilarious, and always laughed over it, but Howard could never see what was so funny.

Howard took Camp Night very seriously - Vince thought this made it even funnier - and had instituted it when he and Vince had been boys at school together, only then they had put a torch on the floor and used it as their pretend campfire. Vince could still remember the giggling and shushing that went on as they lay rolled up in their blankets, telling each other stories (Vince's always the weirdest) and jokes (Howard's always the smuttiest, strangely enough).

Now they were men, but on some level still enjoying it as much as when they were children, the feeling of being out of bed and free from the tedium of the adult world. On another, there was a slight self-consciousness in the way they lay on the floor, staring into the heater as if it was firelight. Howard was aware of a niggling pain in his back, and began to worry he might be getting too old for it. Then he told himself that if he ever led a polar expedition he would have to endure far harder conditions, and toughened himself up.

"How did you get the idea to start this anyway?", asked Vince. "Were you in the Beaver Scouts or something?"

"Huh, the Beavers", snorted Howard with derision. "No, I was a Junior Explorer. We were far more hardcore than the Beaver Scouts".

"So you got thrown out of the Beavers how exactly?", asked Vince, knowing that tone of Howard's so well.

"I wet the bed on our sleepover", admitted Howard.

Vince howled with laughter.

"I was only six!", said Howard defensively. "The Scout Leader probably would have been okay with it if it hadn't been in his sleeping bag".

" _What_ were you doing in the Scout Leader's sleeping bag?", demanded Vince.

"I had a nightmare and climbed in with him", confessed Howard.

"That's your story, mate, you stick with it", advised Vince. "But it sounds like you got tossed out due to a golden shower sex scandal, you filthy little perv".

Howard threw a pillow at his head, and they both collapsed in tears of laughter.

Howard showed Vince the correct way to sleep on the ground in blankets, according to the technique he had learned in the Junior Explorers. First he put Vince's blankets down to sleep on, then Howard's blankets to have over them.

"Then you see Vince, we sleep back to back all night, thus keeping our backs warm and efficiently conserving body heat, while both of us are facing outwards, ready for an enemy attack from either direction". He gestured proudly at his handiwork.

"The Junior Explorers sound completely mental", Vince said. "Sometimes I think you must have had spent your childhood in the 1950s. With nutters".

But he got into the makeshift bed and put his back against Howard's.

"Our bums are going to be together all night", Vince pointed out.

"It wasn't an issue for the Junior Explorers", said Howard with irritation.

"They were clearly an even bigger bunch of pervs than the Beaver Scouts", giggled Vince.

After a minute he rolled over, saying, "This is stupid. I grew up in a forest, and at night we all just slept together in a pile. That's far warmer and more comfortable".

He lay with his stomach against Howard's back, and put an arm over his chest, pulling the blankets closer over them. Howard didn't move away, because the niggling pain in his back had finally gone.

They kept talking for some time, sharing all the salacious rumours they had heard on the Zooniverse grapevine.

"I wonder what gossip everyone spreads about _us_ ", Howard said with morbid curiosity.

"That we bum each other every night", replied Vince knowledgeably.

"That's ridiculous! I wouldn't bum you every night", said Howard in a shocked voice. "Once a week is enough for any normal person".

"What day of the week would you bum me?", asked Vince, as if he really wanted to know.

"Wednesday", said Howard firmly, as if he'd actually thought it through. "You'd spend the first bit of the week looking forward to it, and then the second part of the week recovering".

Vince shook in silent laughter.

"Anyway, go to sleep Vince", said Howard. "And try not to bum me in the night if you can help it". He may have been aware of Vince's erection pushed against him, or maybe not.

"Well it _is_ Wednesday", noted Vince. He squeezed himself closer to Howard, and put his other arm around him.

"Wednesday is _my_ night", said Howard with a proprietary air. "You can bum me all the other nights of the week".

************************

When Vince woke the next morning, stiff and bleary-eyed after sleeping on the floor, he was the only one still in the blankets, and Howard was bending over him. Half asleep, he was convinced Howard was preparing to kiss him, and he closed his eyes and parted his lips as if ready to receive the kiss. He'd never been kissed by someone with a moustache before, and was very curious to know what it felt like.

No kiss came, and Howard was only shaking him awake, telling him to get out of bed. Feeling foolish and disappointed, Vince left to wash and dress in one of the Zooniverse bathrooms. He came into breakfast when he'd finished and sat down at the table, still tired and foggy.

"What do you want for breakfast?", asked Howard at the stove. "Grapefruit or eggs?".

Vince thought that Howard's voice sounded smooth and brown; it was comforting and yet there was a hint of sweetness to it. It's like warm caramel, he thought in a dream.

"Vince? What do you want?"

"Caramel", he said stupidly.

"Caramel on the grapefruit, or the eggs?", queried Howard, as if Vince had made a completely normal request.

"Er, I mean both", said Vince. "No caramel".

Vince watched Howard make the breakfast, thinking how carefully he touched everything. Howard had big powerful hands, yet everything was treated with the utmost tenderness. He was able to cup two eggs in one hand before lowering them into the water, and Vince imagined that being held by Howard would make you feel safe and cherished.

Why couldn't he wake _up_ this morning? Sometimes he thought that longing for Howard was starting to permanently affect his mind. It barely seemed to function some days, as if each time he wanted Howard, another brain cell died. At this rate, I'll only have one left in a few years, he thought sardonically.

Howard put Vince's breakfast in front of him, half a grapegruit and one boiled egg. He had already segmented the grapefruit so that each piece came out easily with a spoon, and cracked the top of the egg open neatly.

Vince suddenly realised that Howard had taken a great deal of care with the breakfast, and in fact always had done.

"Thanks, this is really good, Howard", he said, feeling a bit guilty.

"It's nice to be appreciated", said Howard, in the tone of voice that means appreciation could been forthcoming rather earlier.

Vince racked his apparently dimming brain for something more. His vocabulary was sometimes lacking in these everyday social interactions, but he remembered something an elderly woman had said to him once, after he spent all day pushing her wheelchair around the zoo, and then had got her tea at the cafeteria. She had looked lonely, and that was something Vince could never stand to see.

"You spoil me, Howard", he said.

"Don't I know it", said Howard in a martyred tone. He didn't sound unhappy about it though.

When they finished eating, Howard leaned in towards Vince as if he was about him to kiss him again, but this time Vince kept his eyes open. Howard wiped a particle of egg from the corner of Vince's mouth; the tip of his finger went in just a little between Vince's lips. Vince didn't react. He thought it was like a game where the first person to blink loses.

Howard fixed up Vince's collar, which had folded over itself. He told Vince to wear his jacket zipped all the way up, because it was cold today. Vince agreed: by this stage he probably would have obeyed Howard if he had ordered him to go to work wearing nothing but a pair of Union Jack socks and a sunflower between his teeth.

Next Howard adjusted Vince's hat. Vince was affecting a hat given to him by Joey Moose, in the belief it would make him look like a cooler, hipper version of the other zookeepers.

Vince tensed up, because Howard was getting perilously close to touching his hair. The thought of someone messing his hair up always got him stressed - it was too presumptuous and too intimate - and the thought of Howard doing it was at the same time so erotic as to be unbearable. He didn't realise it, but his expression was identical to the one Howard wore whenever Vince touched him. 

"Like my hat?", Vince asked, as Howard fussed over him.

"'Course I do", said Howard. "You always look good in hats, Vince".

Vince smiled. Maybe the day wouldn't be too bad after all.

*************************

It was dark at the Zooniverse, and Howard and Vince were lying in their respective beds, not talking. This was unusual. Before they fell asleep at night, they generally made up songs, swapped stories, shared memories, or Vince sought out Howard for information on subjects such as whether the unicorn was a real animal or just a horse with a Cornetto on its forehead.

Howard had some experience of Vince's bed-time silences (asleep, thinking about clothes, discreet masturbation), and this felt like an unhappy silence. And now that he thought about it, Vince seemed to be having a lot of unhappy silences at night lately.

"Anything wrong, Vince?", he asked lightly.

"No", answered Vince in tragic tones. "Except – Howard, _why_ can't I be your muse?".

"You're not still going on about that?", said an exasperated Howard. "Look, you don't want be a muse, Vince. It's boring. There's absolutely nothing to do except swan around looking beautiful".

"I think I'm qualified for the job", Vince said stubbornly.

"You're _over_ qualified", said Howard. "You're something far more important to me – you're my partner".

"I'm your _what_?", squeaked Vince.

"My musical partner, my collaborator", explained Howard. "Don't you see, Vince? I don't want to write _about_ you, I want to write _with_ you".

"You do?".

"We're already writing songs together. I mean, what about the one we wrote about that terrifying prawn we saw?".

" _Prawn prawn, prawn psycho scare eye, staring at my soul yeah ...._ ", chanted Vince in remembrance. "But Howard, our songs are just something we do for ourselves when we're alone together at night".

"For now, but who knows where it might lead?", argued Howard. "We could end up Howard and Vince, rock god superstars, just like John and Paul, Mick and Keith, and Rudi and Spider".

"Didn't all those musical colloborators end up hating each other at some point?", Vince asked sadly.

"They never hated each other all the way down", Howard replied. "Musical collaborators might fall out sometimes, they might even go their separate ways, but theirs is such a powerful bond that they will be partners for life".

Vince smiled. He was still silent, but Howard could tell it was a much happier silence.

"You see, it's me and you all the way, Vince", Howard reassured him. "We'll be together until the end, no matter what".

There were times when Vince almost thought he loved Howard.

Oh, who was he kidding? There was no almost about it, and hardly any thought at all.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The blanket sharing technique which Howard says he learned from the Junior Explorers is one described in some detail in Enid Blyton's Famous Five novels, especially when children of opposite sexes had to share a makeshift bed for some reason. 
> 
> 2\. I don't consider it likely that the Beaver Scouts would really eject a small child for wetting the bed, even in someone else's sleeping bag. I presume what really happened is that the Beaver Scouts maybe tactfully suggested to Mr and Mrs Moon that Howard possibly wasn't quite ready for sleepovers yet, what with the nightmares and bedwetting. Howard might have agreed with Vince's suggestion he was "thrown out" rather than go into the long boring explanation you're getting now. No offence to the Scouts is intended.


End file.
